


Reminiscent

by kataras



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band), K-pop
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, alot more angst if anything else tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kataras/pseuds/kataras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU. Introverted, inexperienced and ambitious music prodigy, Jiyong. Talkative! Exciting! Bingu! Seunghyun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminiscent

**Author's Note:**

> "I know I am but summer to your heart,  
> And not the full four seasons of the year."

 

 

(1)

 

 

‘Want a mint?’

 

The sound of Seunghyun’s husky voice derails Jiyong from his train of thoughts. He can no longer pretend to be entertained by the sight of his gruff Timberland boots. Jiyong gulps and plucks up the courage to cast a glance in his direction.

 

It’s not the first time Jiyong has snicked a glance at the dashing man, that he’ll admit. But it’s the first time Seunghyun will consciously notice Jiyong’s eyes on him and—

 

Seunghyun’s standing. More specifically, leaning against the concrete surface of the red-brick wall, outside their dormitory vestibule. He has hands half-tucked suavely into the pocket of his navy trench coat.

 

An enigmatic half-smile plays upon his lips when their gazes lock.

 

Why Jiyong feels his heart race and his mouth run dry, almost dropping the cuppa he is holding, he chooses not to consider. He blames the numbing chill of that early spring morning.

 

‘You don’t seem to like me much.’ Seunghyun lets out a heavy, mock sigh, retracting his offer slowly. ‘Doesn’t matter. You’re cute. And I think I like you anyway.’

 

Jiyong’s so flustered he almost chokes.

 

(2)

 

 

‘So, you write. Do you write write songs? Think through every single word? Do you borrow ideas from books or do you usually write from real life experience?’

 

‘A little bit of both.’ Jiyong mutters, shoving the last of his lyric sheets into a clear folder. It’s been two weeks since the older boy had started trailing him around the campus. He wonders and thinks, maybe, just maybe he is interested in forming some sort of lasting friendship. Just friendship of course, nothing more.

 

Nothing more.

 

‘That’s cool. I’ve never really met anyone who has talent like yours.’

 

Jiyong thinks that Seunghyun probably hasn’t met enough people to tell. He wants to remind Seunghyun that he has read nothing more than two verses of Jiyong’s creation.

 

‘Even if I had,' Seunghyun pauses thoughtfully, as if reading his mind. 'They’d probably pale in comparison to yours.’

 

Jiyong gets that Seunghyun’s trying. (Even though his compliment lacks much logic)

 

So Jiyong tries too.

 

He tries, by not trying to hide that frequent, dreamy smile that hangs past his lips ever since that day.

 

 

(3)

 

 

‘Youngbae says I’m overdoing it. Collecting art. But it’s a second nature to me now. Ever heard of Warhol? Andy Warhol?’

 

‘Not really. Does he have any particular prominent pieces?”

 

‘Campbell’s condensed tomato soup.’

 

‘What? Say that again.’ Jiyong pauses mid-writing, looks up from his music sheet, perplexed as he meets the other’s gaze. The mischievous glint in Seunghyun’s eyes come alive like embers.

 

The older boy makes the slow show of hopping off the latch, drawing closer to Jiyong as he slings an arm over Jiyong’s shoulder. The warmth from Seunghyun’s digits send a novel spark of electricity coursing past his veins. Jiyong feels like he’s suffocating and learning to breathe at the same time.

 

Gliding his tongue across his lips in a pathetic attempt to allay his whirl of emotions, Jiyong tightens his grip on his pen. He proceeds on to write his music, as if his earlier train of thought hadn’t already been derailed by the unforeseen physical contact this dangerously attractive man is making at a dangerously late hour.

 

His awareness is all the more heightened when Seunghyun’s mocha hues fixated upon him. Unbeknownst to him, they have been ensorcelled by his petal red lips for awhile now.

 

‘I said, Campbell’s condensed tomato soup. Red…and all’ His voice is rough, deep and velvety, now only barely above a whisper.

 

‘Delicious…’

 

Jiyong gulps.

 

‘I’m sure it taste, you know...delicious… like something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.’

 

Jiyong will be lying if he says he isn’t already acutely aware of Seunghyun’s piercing gaze on his rosemary lips. He loses his hearing for a while, the thumping heartbeat from within reverberates throughout his body. It’s all he hears for abit.

 

“O-Oh.” Jiyong manages, eyes timidly shying away from everything Seunghyun. They scan over the messy floor, linger a little too long on the crushed balls of paper atop his desk, then his red mitten gloves lying on the edge of the coffee table and—

 

Seunghyun leans in. Leans his face all the way in, until his own lips are aligned with Jiyong’s ears, hands cupping his cheek, and then, he whispers.

 

“I really really like that… also, I, really really like…” He pulls back, making sure their gazes lock.

 

Jiyong balls his clammy hands into fists.

 

“I like—“ The abrupt feel of crashing lips. Soft. Butterflies—  Jiyong _short-circuits._

 

The perfect sync of Seunghyun’s lips against his.

 

It’s like coming home, in all the vast wilderness thats reality he's found a cosy hut, in the form of melody, words and imagery, this novelty, this strangeness in its visceral, drowning all devouring effect, it renders everything he has ever written as mere improvised substitutes of the work of mankind.

 

Nothing, compares to this.

 

Nothing, compares to him.

 

Nothing _feels_ like him.

 

 

(4)

 

 

Jiyong likes the rooftop lights best.

 

On nights where they lie back against the reclining arm chairs, the dim rooftop lights illuminate Seunghyun’s pale skin. The subtle way they outline his harmonious features is breathtaking. Jiyong finds himself half-thankful for the adequate blend of dark and light; just enough of the former to mask his colouring cheeks (it’s almost impossible not to colour at the intimacy of it all) and enough luminescence to bring the older boy’s glorious visage to justice.

 

If Jiyong was falling before, he’s plummeting now, head first into this alluring, never ending abyss that is Seunghyun and his Adonis-like beauty.

 

And it's always underneath the same swirl of heavenly bodies, that the shards and fragments of Jiyong’s life Seunghyun discovers, piece by piece, word for word, song after song.

 

“What’s your definition of happiness, Ji?” Seunghyun mumbles, a lazy smile spreading across his lips as he turns to face Jiyong slowly.

 

“I don’t know.”

 _Every moment I spend with you_ , Jiyong thinks as he counts the stars they sit under.

 

“It’s too abstract to describe. For now at least.”

 _I don’t think I’d ever be able to describe what you make me feel in words_. Jiyong means.

 

“Remonter le moral, je t’aime.” Seunghyun decides then, to ply trade at French, knowing all too well that Jiyong scorns the idea of his imperfect accent. It was his way of getting back at Jiyong, for his half-assed replies.

 

“It’s pointless telling me all these, I have no idea you’re say—“

 

“Je suis ton tournesol, imbécile heureux.”

 

Jiyong scoffs as Seunghyun being Seunghyun, rambles on anyway.

 

“I’m going to sleep.”

 

Jiyong flits his eyelids shut.

 

Lets the sound of Seunghyun's husky voice bring imaginary stars to the sea of darkness, behind closed lids.

 

Pretends to not notice when the older boy places a gentle hand above his own and proclaims again, with a steady voice, _“Toujours dans mon cœur.”_

 

Ignores the sound of his own racing heart when Seunghyun says it again, this time not before pressing a soft, chaste butterfly kiss against his forehead.

 

_“Tu seras toujours dans mon cœur.”_

 

Jiyong sleeps like a baby that night.

 

 

(5)

 

 

The crowd has gathered. The stage lights are up and illuminating the courtyard square.

 

“What if I can’t do this.” Jiyong cracks. He’s sweating buckets backstage and the performance is nowhere even near getting started.

 

“Hey. Jiyong. Listen.” Strong hands reach for his shoulder blades. Seunghyun’s voice is calm and mesmerising, like gentle lull of waves by the beach.

 

“You’re going to be okay. You’re amazing. You’re going to make this the biggest concert that ever existed on the college campus.”

 

Jiyong swallows, inhales deeply and flutters his eyelids shut.

 

“Look at me, Ji. Will you sing for me? I’ll be right at the mosh pit, first person, all the way up at the front. You’re okay. You’ll be okay. I’m here.”

 

“I’m always going to be here.” He whispers, trailing off softly. His mocha hues are soft and glimmering when their gazes lock. It swells with so much hope and faith and it makes Jiyong want to believe in catching stars and conquering the seas, in happy endings and eternal unions --

 

Jiyong draws in a deep breath, looks up at Seunghyun and smiles, feeling a little braver than before.

 

“Remember this?” Seunghyun presses a mint into the soft of Jiyong’s palms, lips curling to form a playful smirk. “You were nervous too, remember?”

 

“No!! I was just—“

 

“That, was probably because you turned down my mints. Eat up, and you’ll fare.”

 

Jiyong lets out a hearty laugh, the tension from before melting away from his shoulders. He pops a mint into his mouth, taking in gradual, deep breaths as its cooling sensation washes down his tongue. “Thanks. I won’t disappoint you.”

 

“I know you won’t, pretty boy. Oh and --”

 

Seunghyun smiles, leans in swiftly to press a chaste kiss against Jiyong's lips.

 

“That’s the payment you ought to be making for _my_ mint.” And with an outrageously endearing wink in Jiyong’s direction, he leaves.

 

_Jerk._

 

Jiyong thinks as he runs two fingers over his lips with the same dreamy smile.

 

+

 

Tonight, he feels immune to the weight of the world. Opinions and critical comments, peals of applause and occasional heckling - he's impervious. When the myriad of visages cast their gaze on the sole victor of the vast stage; Jiyong doesn’t feel like he can quite discern the difference anymore-- in a sea of many he only sees one.

 

One with coffee irises, fierce eyebrows and a look of sheer pride and adoration.

 

  
_Seunghyun._

 

 

(6)

 

 

“You’re so pretty,” Seunghyun whispers and pulls Jiyong closer in, swinging their arms together as they walk.

 

Jiyong, glances up at him, pouty lips pursed in indignance. “No! You’re more dashing than anything else!”

 

Seunghyun emits a soft cooing sound, delighted to hear Jiyong playing into his game.

 

“You’ve got lips that are redder than coral. The prettiest pair I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Well.” Jiyong says, smiling gracefully. “I can’t disagree with that, Campbell tomato soup connoisseur.”

 

Seunghyun laughs, pushing Jiyong lightly at his shoulder when he shrugs. Jiyong lets Seunghyun pull him into his arms, snakes his own against Seunghyun’s waist and doesn’t resist when he’s pushed roughly against the wall of the brick-red school building they’re walking past.

 

For once in Jiyong’s life he doesn’t care who sees.

 

 

(7)

 

 

_Dinner at my place? I’ve restocked the supply of Campbell Soup ;) - CSH_

 

Jiyong reads off the sticky note on his fridge. His lips curl to form a small smile when he peels it gently off the surface,

 

“Jiyong?” Youngbae’s voice lulls Jiyong’s attention back to the present.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“The producers would like to meet you over dinner tonight. Bring in the best you’ve got,” Youngbae says.

 

“You’re a lucky chap, you know? They don’t usually include freshmens in their list of potential signings. I’ll tell them you’ll be there over dinner tonight, yeah?”

 

“Oh. Yeah. Uhm. It’s great. I know. Thanks...”

 

It’s the first time Jiyong misses out on a dinner date with Seunghyun.

 

 

(8)

 

 

_I miss you._

 

Jiyong reads. Doesn’t have the heart to tell Seunghyun his schedule has become so hectic it doesn’t beget time anymore for him to even commit to three meals a day.

 

So he leaves them unanswered.

 

 

(9)

 

 

One day, he knows.

 

Jiyong wakes up and he doesn’t receive a message from Seunghyun anymore.

 

He walks past the courtyard just like every other day, except that he finds Seunghyun facilitating a large group of freshmens. Seunghyun’s telling a story, hands gesturing animatedly. He uses different voices and punctuates every point with a “you, know?” He even earns a few peals of laughter from them. They cheer and surround him, with their silvery whispers and.

 

And then there’s this _other_ boy, see.

 

He sits way up at the front, has a his thick curtain of bangs that obscures his eyes. He’s listening intently; sits upright with his feet crossed, finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin. He gives Seunghyun that _look_. Laughs at almost every word Seunghyun says.

 

Jiyong’s not jealous or anything. No, not really.

 

He’s just really fucking jealous.

 

It’s not about wanting to be like Seunghyun, he cares less about charming the crowd with witty lines and amusing anecdotes. He doesn’t have to be universally liked or admired or even loved by strangers, not at all.

 

It’s more like they see something in Seunghyun that Jiyong had always thought was put on display, just for him.

 

 

(10)

 

 

“So what’s your favourite time of the day?” Seunghyun asks, when Jiyong finally gets the time for them to have a meal together.

 

“Don’t know.” Jiyong pokes at the sliced tamago, frowns when he realises it's only half-cooked.

 

“I like evenings best.”

 

“How could you not know? There must be a point in the day that you look forward to most.” Seunghyun presses on, hardly amused. Jiyong’s half-contemplating when Seunghyun’s expression lights up upon the jarring vibration of his smartphone.

 

A welcome distraction.

 

That faint smile that spreads across Seunghyun’s lips when he reads the incoming message doesn’t escape unnoticed. Not under Jiyong’s intense scrutiny from across the table, at least.

 

Jiyong clenches his fists.

 

The room goes suddenly silent with the sound of Seunghyun’s fingers typing furiously away. Jiyong scoffs, picks up his chopsticks tentatively and does his own thing too: consume his ramen, finish his soda down to at least the midway mark, pay up his half of the bill and then, leave.

 

For some reasons, dinner tasted like shit that day.

 

_'A point in the day that you look forward to most.'_

 

What Jiyong didn’t say: Any part of the day I see you.

 

 

(11)

 

 

Perhaps it’s fitting, Jiyong thinks sullenly.

 

When he sees Seunghyun the mentor, offering his freshman counterpart a mint outside the dormitory vestibule, at the _same_ corner with the _same_ brick red walls, he knows.

 

Jiyong feels the suffocating squeeze in his chest when Seunghyun gives that boy his smile, the one where his eyes crinkle slightly at their ends, crescent dimples peek out from the side of his cheeks and alongside _flagrantly_ upturned lips that practically yells at how Seunghyun’s never been so fucking happy to see someone in his life--

 

He should just keep walking.

 

Jiyong pairs all the reasons why Seunghyun deserves better with every step he takes home that day.

 

When he makes it home, he chugs down three drinks straight. He has never been fond of anything remotely alcohol, but that day, he relishes the bitter aftertaste on his tongue. With every drop he takes, his hatred for humanity grows. His anger at himself is momentarily deferred.

 

He thinks he’s on the verge of being okay again until he opens the kitchen drawer and realises (belatedly) that the once infinite supply of Campbell Tomato soup had been thoroughly exhausted. Seunghyun hasn't replenished.

 

Seunghyun _never_ forgets to replenish.

 

The final line of defence he thought he had bulwarked with alcohol and bitter abhorrence, comes crashing down.

 

He collapses weakly onto the ground, hands palming his face. There is a rawness it; the hot torrents of grief that course down his cheeks. It mingles with the newfound hollowness in his chest. Intensifies the burning feeling of his own short, heavy breaths against bare and tear-nourished skin. Sharpens the stinging sensation of the moving, prickling air stabbing into dried tear ducts.

 

 

(12)

 

 

“Fuck.” Seunghyun spits, half-giggly, incoherent and reeking of alcohol as he stumbles into Jiyong’s apartment one rainy night, holding a flimsy cardboard box.

 

“What the hell have you been doing?” Jiyong snaps irritably.

 

It’s been a week since Seunghyun had contacted him. The audacity he has to show up at his front door at this hour.

 

“What a surprise. So now you care?”

 

“What do you mean now I care?!” Jiyong raises his voice, frowns. It doesn’t help that he’s fuelled by thoughts of _them_ ; Seunghyun and that courtyard boy.

 

“I don’t know... let’s see, you haven’t exactly been talking to me at all since your rise to stardom. I--” Seunghyun almost trips over the parapet as he head towards the coffee table. The contents of the box rumble loudly in their inertia.

 

“Here are all your fucking belongings, you’re welcome.”

 

“So you’re just going to return my things, without an explanation?”

 

“Explanation…?” Seunghyun deliberates for a moment too long before expelling a forced, mirthless laugh.

 

“You and explanation? Oxymoronic don’t you think? Who’s the one who’s been at the receiving end of no explanation since you had that record deal signed?.”

 

“I’m not the one hanging out with some new fucking freshman living two stories above, **_twenty four seven_**.”

 

Seunghyun frowns, expression pained. “What the fuck, Jiyong. Who do you think you are, dictating the things I should and shouldn't do?”

 

“I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

 

“Oh really? That’s new.” Seunghyun spits with so much malice it takes Jiyong by surprise.

 

“You drank too--”

  

"It's the first time I've personally ever heard you say it."

 

Seunghyun sighs, goes suddenly silent for a while. “You don’t understand me at all.”

 

And then he’s gone.

 

 

(13)

 

 

He should probably apologize, Jiyong thinks.

 

 

(14)

 

 

It never happens.

 

Or more like Jiyong never gets the chance.

 

He doesn’t hear from Seunghyun the next morning.

 

Or the whole of next week at all.

 

Months, even.

 

It’s only when Jiyong sees frost spilling over the windowsills, that he remembers: The second anniversary of their first meeting is now less than two weeks away.

 

It’s Christmas day, when he finds an ornate, velvet box of items sitting at his front door. Half-finished song books, a knitted scarf, coffee mug, clothes, gifts… everything but a box of mints. It’s appropriate, Jiyong thinks bitterly. The joy of giving back the memories, now that Seunghyun’s cutting himself loose of all prior reminders of him.

 

Though, Jiyong doesn’t bother returning the favour.

 

For the same reason why he doesn’t bother eviscerating his kitchen countertop of the expired cans and cans of Campbell tomato soup's, really.

 

He’s grown quite accustomed to the frequent remarks from his occasional visitors - mostly about its decorative impracticality. Youngbae famously remarked that its function was as much a kitchen embellisher as it was an ‘avenue for dust to gather.’

 

 _You’re right_ , Jiyong wants to say. It’s _Lovedust_.

 

It’s all that's left of _us_.

 

 

(15) 

 

 

**_“If you ask me what happiness is, when this life is gone, maybe when this love is gone._ **

**_If you ask me what happiness is, it's your smile under the sun, but I’m always on the run.”_ **

 

The scent of cinnamons waft through the air, tickling his nostrils just enough to help him enter a state of mere physical relaxation. He’s warm and half-tucked underneath the heavy duvet, in the same pair of plain red pyjamas he dons nearly every festive season. It’s the last day of the year and Jiyong’s never called for a lights out this early.

 

The ceiling is almost aglow, painted with the dancing shadows amidst christmas lights. The night is young -  hardly ringing with the sound of the fireworks at all. He vaguely picks up on the soft melody of the Christmas carols from where he sleeps. The clock strikes.

 

It’s half-past ten.

 

There is absolutely no excuse at all, to _not_ fall asleep.

 

**_[Someday, when it all goes black. I might want it all back]_ **

 

Except, behind half-lidded eyes, a box of mints linger at the back of his mind.

 

Except, all of a sudden, he has got endlesss lyrics to an unknown tune ringing inside his head.

 

Except that, he forgets how exceptionally good he is, at reminiscing and distilling memories, one in particular above all else.

 

**_[But I know I can’t go back to you]_ **

 

It’s a funny thing really. How the most familiar things become so familiar they turn invisible in their presumed consistency. He almost let this piece slip too. (Thankfully, it doesn’t)

  

Today, its significance is unsettling.

  

Jiyong flutters his eyelids shut as he braces himself for the full gravity of that memory's revivial.

  

**_[I’m going to go back the way I came from, black]_ **

 

Jiyong remembers the sultry summer air and the sound of their echoing footsteps down the hallway, back when their feelings for each other were still carefully threaded between occasional flirtations, frequent mint-exchanges and silent nights.

 

**_[The summer you and I were hot, it’s been too long]_ **

 

They were walking back together, after a lazy evening shopping at the grocery stall. It turned out to be a lengthier affair than expected, because Seunghyun being Seunghyun, had only started deciding what to cook _while_ shopping. Jiyong had made Seunghyun lug their grocery bags home that day, because it was him who insisted on the infinite cans of Campbell's Tomato Soup. Jiyong was almost guilt tripped into doing some of the lifting when they finally reached Seunghyun’s apartment lobby. All seemed well until they both realised belatedly, that there was only one working lift, since the other was under maintenance.

 

They stood in relative silence for a good five seconds or so, until it occurred to a very impatient Seunghyun that the lift was still, a good long way up. They both knew logically and objectively, that the wait could easily have spilled over to five minutes.

 

“Let’s take the stairs.” Seunghyun said suddenly.

 

Jiyong must have looked at him like he wasn’t already crazy enough because the next thing he noticed was Seunghyun on bent knees, lips stretched to form a winsome smile as he pointed at his back, signalling for Jiyong to get on. Jiyong had seriously doubted Seunghyun’s sanity then, but he went along with him anyway.

 

It was that exact moment, when Jiyong had _rested_ his chin on Seunghyun’s broad shoulders, inhaled the scent of his lemon-mint shampoo, _felt_ the gentle breeze against his face while the older boy raced up the stairs with two heavy bags of groceries and arms still locked miraculously under his thighs that, Jiyong falls.

 

 _Falls_ , hopelessly and endlessly and _irreversibly_ in love.

 

He should really call, Jiyong thinks when he sits up and kicks away the duvet.

 

Yet, he takes the seat at his desk instead. Rummages around only to locate a half-used piece of paper. Reaches for a half-filled pen. Composes an apology. Lets the black thread spool out from the end of his scratchy silver nib and coil into words...

 

Someday

When it all goes black

I might want it all back

But I know I can’t go back to you.

I’m going to go back the way I came from,

The summer you and I were hot, it’s been too long.

**_Fade away, fade away, fade away._ **

**_Fade away, fade away, fade away._ **

 

Six times, he tries to convince himself of the better days ahead.

  
Six times more, he’s lured deeper and deeper, into his reminiscence.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So... 
> 
> There are few key minor details you should note while considering the characterization of GTOP:  
> \- Jiyong "pays for his half of the bill," "half-past ten", "half-lidded eyes". "Rummages around only to find a half-used piece of paper”, “Reaches for a half-filled pen." All the halves aren’t coincidental. I deliberately wrote them there because they echo how Jiyong does things:half-heartedly. Notice how in this entire relationship it’s as if he’s only half-invested in the things they do together. 
> 
> More:  
> “Jiyong thinks he should…” vs what he actually does.  
> “What Jiyong didn’t say” vs what he wanted to say (but didn't actually say)  
> “Jiyong leaves them unanswered.” !!!!!!
> 
> \- There were also multiple symbols I added into this story, most notably the mints and Campbell’s Tomato Soup. Again, they are there for a reason. You can try and hazard a guess.
> 
> Please, tell me what you think. I'm curious to find out about your thoughts on the ending - whether or not it's justified.


End file.
